


Outcomes Unforeseen

by Trixree



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, Pretty Boys Being Pretty, happy valentines day i guess, this got out of control, very quickly, zoro with long hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22718899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixree/pseuds/Trixree
Summary: “I would almost say you look attractive like this if it wouldn’t be unfathomably disgusting and also a betrayal of everything I stand for as a human being,” Perona had told Zoro one night as she showed him a variety of tricks for untangling stubborn, sweaty hair. Zoro kinda wishes he would have listened to her, for just a single fucking moment.Maybe if he had, he would have been able to prepare himself for the level of weirdness that’s happening right now.(In which Zoro has long hair and certain people develop feelings about it.)
Relationships: Monkey D. Luffy/Roronoa Zoro, Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 9
Kudos: 357





	Outcomes Unforeseen

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this beautiful wonderful post](https://artlyloser.tumblr.com/post/172292602051/i-present-to-you-a-concept) that gave me feelings about things.

“Wow, it’s… soft!” Perona exclaims in wonder. She runs her fingers through Zoro’s hair, her fluorescent pink nails scratching gently at his scalp. “Are you sure you want to cut it? It would be such a shame to keep hacking it off with those garish swords of yours…” 

Zoro doesn’t really pay much attention to his appearance. Sure, he likes his earrings and his haramaki, but he’s never been the  _ type  _ to fuss about his hair or his clothes or how often he bathes like some stupid, simpering cooks he knows. He doesn’t have a “skin-care routine” as Nami calls it, or a desire to smell like “anything other than the bottom of a tankard” as Sanji shouts out him. Like all parts of his body, Zoro’s hair is not meant to require  _ fuss  _ or  _ maintenance.  _ Typically, when it gets too long, he hacks it off with one of his swords. Simple. Easy. Fuss-less. 

A few months on Kuraigana passed in a haze of training and uninhibited hair-growth (there isn’t much time to worry about the length of his hair when he’s getting beaten black and blue, when he’s pouring every ounce of himself into getting stronger, getting better, when his captain had lost  _ everything  _ in the blink of an eye on a battlefield and Zoro wasn’t  _ there—)  _ until eventually, Perona had  _ grabbed him  _ by the roots of his hair and tugged him into the room she's claimed as her own.

(Zoro has only allowed this to happen because, admittedly, it’s not the worst feeling in the world to have Perona’s hands in his hair or to have her stupidly long pink nails gently scritch-scratching at his scalp.) 

“A little bit longer and you’ll be able to put it up!” She bunches his hair in her hands and draws it up high on his head. “It might do you some good—make you look a little bit cuter!” 

Zoro grunts and leans away from her hands. “I don’t want to look  _ cute,”  _ he tells her, grimacing at the words. 

Perona groans. “You’re the  _ worst.”  _ One thing leads to another and soon they’re arguing, Zoro’s hair completely forgotten. 

* * *

It isn’t until later that night after training when Zoro steps out of the shower that he remembers it. In the faintly foggy mirror, he sees his hair, about chin length, sticking damp to his face and neck. The change itself took place over such a short period of time that he hardly noticed. Experimentally, he touches his hair. Lifts it to see his earrings. Drops it back down. 

“Huh.” 

Zoro doesn’t cut his hair. 

* * *

Zoro gets off of the wreckage of the wrong ship. Sanji is standing on the shore, watching him approach. 

A lot can change about a person in two years. Looking at Sanji now, even at a distance, Zoro can tell that things have changed. He’s a little taller and more muscled, no longer the skinny string bean he was. He’s got more facial hair—a well-groomed smattering of it, dark on his chin. His stupid curly eyebrow is the same. His affinity for crisp, tailored suits is the same. But, as he stops a few feet away, it’s clear to Zoro; this is not the same man that he stood beside two years ago. A  _ lot  _ can change about a person in two years. 

The smell of cigarettes is the same as Sanji gives a measured exhale through his nose. 

“What,” the cook says, perfectly deadpan. 

“What?” Zoro responds, already  _ really fucking irritated.  _

“What,” Sanji repeats, “the fuck is on your head?” 

Zoro  _ refuses  _ to touch his hair in any display of self consciousness. Firstly, he’s  _ above that.  _ Secondly, the cook is a  _ moron.  _ Third, the cook is an  _ asshole.  _

“What the fuck is on your  _ face?”  _ Zoro bites out. 

Sanji bristles like a wet cat. 

“Excuse me, Seaweed? It’s called  _ facial hair  _ and it’s a sign of  _ manhood—” _

“Yeah, well, it looks like you glued pubes to your chin—”

“And _you_ look like a fucking sea-witch with all that hair—” 

So, two years can change a lot of things. But some things really do stay exactly the same. 

* * *

“You look so cool!” Luffy cries, jumping up and down in place on the deck of the Sunny. 

Zoro grunts noncommittally while Usopp and Luffy stutter around a series of compliments. Chopper stares up at Zoro with those big, brown eyes he has, looking just as  _ adorable  _ as he did two years ago. Nearby, Franky weeps, “ _ you look so manly, bro!”  _

All of the attention feels fucking  _ weird.  _

He’s missing an  _ eye,  _ for fuck’s sake, and all his crew cares about is his goddamn hair.

(“I would almost say you look attractive like this if it wouldn’t be unfathomably disgusting and also a betrayal of everything I stand for as a human being,” Perona had told him one night as she showed him a variety of tricks for untangling stubborn, sweaty hair. Zoro kinda wishes he would have listened to her, for just a fucking moment. Maybe he would have been better able to  _ prepare himself  _ for the level of  _ weirdness  _ that’s happening right now.) 

“He’s right, Zoro-san,” Robin muses. “It is very flattering on you.” 

Zoro grunts for a lack of anything else to say. Meanwhile,  Sanji is looking terribly conflicted about whether or not he can stand to argue with one of his  _ precious ladies.  _

That, if nothing else, leaves Zoro feeling a little smug about the whole thing. 

* * *

Zoro needs to cut his stupid sea-weed hair off or Sanji is going to go insane.

He already feels like he’s losing it as it  _ is…  _ he doesn’t know how much more his poor heart can take. (Or his dick, for that matter.) 

See, now that Zoro has gone and gotten himself long lady-like hair, Sanji’s dick seems to be exceptionally confused as to who the  _ owner  _ of that hair actually _is_. His prick has gone and developed sentience of its own and it is alarmingly unaware of the gender of the person which said hair occupies. 

(Sanji catches a glimpse of Zoro sleeping, his hair braided and pulled out of his face and his gut clenches in a way it only does around the ladies. He sees him shirtless, sweaty and training, his hair tucked up into a high pony-tail and his pecs defined just enough to look like some  _ exceptionally  _ perky tits and all of Sanji’s blood flees South. Zoro stomps into the kitchen looking for a drink, all graceless and bumbling, and he tosses his head back to drink, giving Sanji a peek of how the delicate strands of his hair cling damp to his neck in the process.) 

It’s irritating is what it is. It’s just another fucking aberration in a series of fucked-up choices Sanji’s dick appears to be making for him— _thanks, Momoiro island._

So Sanji does what he does best, he grits his teeth and bears it. 

* * *

Luffy usually  _ hates  _ it when Nami invokes the Bathtime Maritime Conduct Laws— as Usopp has named them— because it means he’s gotta waste his time getting clean only to just get dirty again. Nami goes on and on about basic hygiene and not “smelling like a damn fishery” and it’s all just so  _ boring.  _

Even Franky’s patented Super Awesome Sea Water Purifying System needs maintenance sometimes. And, like a lot of his inventions, sometimes things don’t go exactly as planned… Breakdowns do happen. And, on those rare occasions, all devil fruit users must be accompanied to the bath, lest they drown. 

“Zoro,” Nami calls out, approaching the corner of the Sunny where the man in question is half-napping. He cracks open his single eye and peers at her. Luffy watches carefully from his hiding spot among the mikan trees. (If Nami wants him to take a bath, well, then she’s just gonna have to find and catch him, first.) 

“Zoro, he reeks,” Nami says with a long-suffering sigh. 

“Uh huh,” Zoro intones, closing his eye again. 

Nami nudges him with the tip of her sandal persistently. “Zoro, as first-mate, it is your sworn duty to care for the well-being of your captain,” she sing-songs. “The filtration system is down. Again.” 

The wind kicks up and the sudden gust of it sends Zoro’s pony-tail flying in the wind. Luffy’s lungs go tight, like someone is squeezing them. Zoro’s hair has been doing that a lot lately—making Luffy feel all sorts of things in all sorts of ways. 

Under the threat of interest hikes, Nami eventually convinces (nags) Zoro into the job. And this is where the fun part starts—hide and seeking. 

* * *

Eventually, Zoro catches him. And, honestly, it’s not Luffy’s fault, per say, that he was distracted from the chase by the way the orange sunset light made Zoro’s hair glow. Not at  _ all.  _ But now, here they are, Zoro standing shirtless over the tub, adjusting the water temperature, while Luffy sits on the bathroom counter, pretending that he isn’t watching the way that Zoro’s hair falls like a curtain down his back when it’s down. 

Zoro turns around and raises an eyebrow at him. 

(There’s that tight feeling in his chest again.) 

“Luffy, what are you doing? C’mon,” Zoro says, dry. His hands go to his pants and, well. It’s not that the sight of a naked Zoro is  _ new  _ to Luffy in any way. They’ve spent an awful lot of time together in close-quarters since the very beginning of their adventures—from the bottom of that old, rickety dingy to the cramped quarters of the Merry to other bath-times just like this one. But… this is the first time since their separation, the first time since Zoro left and came back like  _ this,  _ giving Luffy all sorts of  _ feelings  _ that he can’t begin to parse through. 

So, Zoro shucks his pants off and Luffy’s gut clenches hard for reasons he can’t identify. 

“I will throw you in that bathtub fully clothed, so help me god,” Zoro growls, stalking forward. Luffy is mesmerized by the side-to-side swish of his hair, almost hip-length and curling faintly in the steam from the bath. 

Luffy wants to  _ touch.  _ He’s not sure how to, or even whether it would be something Zoro wants, too. 

Snapping back into the present moment, he starts to strip. 

The bath passes without incident. As soon as Zoro gets him—(read; dunks him)—in the water, Luffy’s limbs go heavy and boneless. Zoro sits on a stool at the side of the tub, helping him when necessary, but otherwise tending to his own needs. 

Head lolling against the side of the tub, Luffy watches as Zoro combs through his wet hair. It’s such an incongruous sight—those strong, calloused hands parsing gently through feminine strands of wet, slick hair. 

Watching makes Luffy feel weaker than the water ever could. 

* * *

He carries a few plain black hair ties around his wrist. When he trains, Zoro tucks his hair up into a ponytail or into a half-hazard bun. Before he sleeps, he braids it. (He fucking  _ hates  _ waking up with hair in his mouth.)

Chopper likes to weave flowers into his hair. Zoro lets him—not because he  _ likes it,  _ but because he’s fucking  _ weak  _ and Chopper is  _ small  _ and when he bats his big brown eyes at him, Zoro is ridiculously  _ powerless _ —though he does grumble through the process. Once, Luffy had tried to join, but he couldn’t figure out how to do it and kept  _ yanking  _ which, after the third or fourth time, Zoro started to think it was intentional. 

Nami and Robin braid his hair sometimes. Once, notably, they had spirited him away to their cabin and sat him down on the carpeted floor at the foot of one of their beds. The cook had come in to serve the ladies their afternoon tea, only to find them chatting and giggling together, sitting on the bed and playing with Zoro’s  _ hair.  _

Sanji had blanched sheet-white and promptly fainted out of rage. 

Sometimes, Zoro will catch Sanji or Luffy giving him… looks. Both of them do it, but they each do it in different ways. 

When Sanji looks, it is barely restrained irritation. It is  _ fury.  _ His hands twitch and his brow tightens and he growls and snaps at Zoro like he wants to take his throat out with his very own teeth. The first time Zoro walked around the ship with his hair tied up, he saw Sanji bite clean through a cigarette. The first time Zoro let Robin give his hair a “french braid”, Sanji took one look at him, and burst into flames spontaneously from his feet up. (Franky had stomped around shouting about scorch marks on the deck for  _ weeks. _ ) The first time Sanji walked in on Zoro combing through his hair after a shower, Sanji jumped directly into the freezing cold ocean. 

When Luffy looks, there is something  _ heavy  _ in his eyes. Zoro can’t figure it out. The cook is easy—Sanji is mad because women pay more attention to Zoro. It’s clean. Simple. Luffy is… different. Zoro combs a hasty hand through his hair and he catches Luffy leaning forward, like he intends to touch. Fighting with him over food at dinner time, a few strands of hair escape Zoro’s loose braid and Luffy goes stiff and still, a chicken leg dangling limp from his lips. It’s inexplicable. Bizarre.

Everybody is suddenly so fucking  _ weird  _ about his hair and Zoro couldn’t possibly understand it any less.

* * *

Sanji almost spills boiling water on himself one night after dinner. 

Luffy has stayed in the gallery long after the meal has ended and the rest of the crew has wandered off. At first, Sanji had written his odd behavior off as over-indulgence. The captain had eaten too much so he stayed after dinner and sprawled himself out over the bench, too full to move. One glimpse at Luffy’s face had told Sanji otherwise. 

His brow was furrowed in a way that it almost  _ never is.  _ He looks lost in thought. He also looks like those thoughts cannot be good. So, Sanji left him as he was and continued cleaning up after a truly riotous meal. 

It’s as he’s scrubbing a particularly stubborn pan with hot water and soap that Luffy finally speaks— 

“Sanji, what’s sex like?” 

—and Sanji almost upends the entire pot of scalding water onto himself in his shock. 

“Luffy— _ what— _ ?” He stutters, very carefully placing the pot far out of the way. He turns to face him and finds the other man splayed out on the bench on his back, arms folded over his chest, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. 

“What’s sex like? Robin said you would know.” 

Sanji has never felt  _ anger  _ towards a woman. That’s simply not who he is. However, in this very moment, he thinks he might be close. 

“Luffy.” Sanji carefully pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off what is sure to be an awful headache. “Why were you asking Robin about  _ sex?” And why did she tell you to ask me?  _ he thinks, but does not say.

“Because my below-the-belt area is interested in Zoro’s new hair and I think that has something to do with sex. So I want to know what it’s like.” 

Time stands painfully still. Sanji feels like he’s suddenly forgot how to breathe. If it weren’t for the fact that his own breath stubbornly coming in and out of his lungs is the only thing he can hear, he would have been ready to accept his death right here on the floor of the kitchen. 

Luffy’s words process very slowly. The first thought that Sanji has is a very loud, very simple,  _ what the fuck.  _ The second thought that comes is  _ so it wasn’t just me, then?  _ Absurdly, his third thought is that Zoro’s long-hair has magic powers and is not only afflicting  _ him _ —despite his very firm stance on his own heterosexuality—it is affecting their entirely sex-less captain. He quickly thinks,  _ wait… Luffy is gay?  _ And then, finally,  _ hilariously,  _ the last coherent thought he has is that Luffy calls his  _ dick  _ his “below the belt area”, which is objectively hilarious. 

“Um,” Sanji says very eloquently. Then, he bursts into painful spasms of laughter. 

“Sanji?” Luffy asks, looking genuinely concerned. He sits up on the bench and stares at him with wide eyes. His loose shirt falls open on either side of his firm, scarred chest and Sanji can’t  _ breathe  _ again—can’t  _ handle  _ the sight of Luffy, appetite-sated, all brilliant eyes and smooth face in his kitchen talking about  _ sex— _ so he thunks his head down on the counter and muffles a scream into his hands. 

_ Fuck  _ Zoro and  _ fuck  _ his stupid (pretty) hair. 

“Sa-a-anji,” Luffy says in a half sing-song, half-whine. 

Sanji composes himself. He raises his head and  _ blinks  _ at his captain. “Luffy. You want—to—” Sanji can’t make himself say the words. “H—have  _ sex…  _ with Zoro?” 

Luffy shrugs his shoulders and smiles, almost sheepish. “If Zoro wants to!” 

Sanji wants to fucking  _ scream.  _ “Luffy. I’m  _ trying  _ here. You’re going to have to give me more to work with than that _.”  _

Luffy looks thoughtful. And then he starts to talk. “I want to kiss him and touch him and… I want to know all the faces that he makes.” Luffy looks at his hands. “I want to play with his hair and see if he likes it.” He flexes his fingers and draws his open hands into two, tightly closed fists. “I want to _tug_ on it.” 

With that, something shifts almost imperceptibly in Luffy’s demeanor. Sanji is seeing something in Luffy that he’s never seen before.  _ Desire.  _

His captain continues. “He’s so warm all the time and I want to find out if his mouth is that warm—if he’s that warm inside. I want to taste him all over. I wonder if he still has feeling left in his scars and if I can bring feeling into them if I touch hard enough.” Luffy blinks at him. “Is that sex?” 

Luffy looks at him with so much trust and so much open yearning in his eyes that Sanji could never—would never—deny him this, deny him the honest truth, even though it  _ hurts _ —it burns coming out of his throat like fire. 

“Yes, that’s… that’s sex,” he says. 

Luffy hums thoughtfully. “What’s it like?”

And here’s the crux of the dilemma—Sanji’s never had sex like that. He’s never held someone down (or been held down by someone) purely for the rush of touching them—to taste another’s skin just for the sheer  _ want  _ of it, to slide your hands through another’s hair just because you  _ crave it.  _ Sex has never been like that before. Not for him. Embarrassing, fumbling, early-ejaculatory touching in the dark?  _ That,  _ Sanji could explain. Quick encounters in bathrooms and stockrooms and hurried, whispered words between puffs of cigarette smoke, little crushes and infatuations—he could explain that, too. 

For a terrifying moment, Sanji feels himself poised on the edge of a great, yawning vulnerability. Everything Luffy has said?  _ Sanji wants it too.  _ Wants it so much it infuriates him, every fucking time he looks at the shitty swordsman. He wants to touch and taste and feel the other man—but he feels the impossibility of it like a brand. So, instead, he insults and shouts and kicks. 

His own weakness feels like curdled milk in his mouth. All of those feelings and urges for Zoro have been left out too long. They’ve soured in his inaction. And Luffy has gotten there first. 

_ Fuck.  _

“Sanji?” 

Deliriously, he thinks he might  _ cry  _ about this. That this double-edged realization of Luffy-likes-Zoro and I-like-Zoro is a blow he can’t quite take quietly. It feels like standing at the edge of the world, being ready to lay everything down (his head for his captain’s head—his life laid down,  _ not  _ Zoro’s) only to be knocked unconscious by some stubborn idiot instead. A powerful hit to the gut with the hilt of a sword, cracking down on already shattered ribs and bruised flesh. 

Luffy stands. “Sanji?” he repeats, but Sanji can’t—just… can’t. 

“Yes, captain?” Falls out of his lips like ash—like rot itself—and he feels like each syllable is a death knell. He stares at the table-top. 

For a long moment, Luffy says nothing. 

“Oh,” he says, suddenly, far too soft. “You want that with Zoro, too.” 

Which, of course, is when Zoro walks into the room. 

* * *

Luffy thinks it’s kind of unfair, how much Zoro’s hair messes him up. He sees him and goes all tongue-tied. 

Zoro is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his gaze flitting back and forth from Sanji to Luffy and back to Sanji and back to Luffy again. He looks confused. He also looks beautifully rumpled with his hair all sleep-mussed and soft around his hard-lined face. 

“What?” he asks, looking really pretty lost. 

“ _ Nothing,”  _ Sanji hisses, spinning around on his heel and turning to face the sink so that he doesn’t have to look at either of them. Luffy and Zoro are left to look at each other to the soundtrack of Sanji trying to light a cigarette with an uncooperative and shaky hands. 

“Uh, okay—” Zoro says just as Luffy leaps in, headfirst like he does with all things— 

“Sanji and I were talking about sex,” he says. 

“Oh my fucking god, you shitty fucking Captain,” Sanji snarls, dropping his lighter into the sink in a fit of surprise. 

Zoro, for his part, looks like he just got hit by a truck. Suddenly, all at once, he erupts into fits of laughter. 

“Why would you talk to the  _ cook  _ about sex?” Zoro cackles.

“And what the fuck is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” Sanji growls, finally twisting back around to face them. There is fury and embarrassment hot in his eyes, though Luffy couldn’t say for certain which one was making his face turn so red.

“I’d be surprised if you stopped tripping over yourself long enough to manage convincing  _ anybody _ to go to bed with you,” Zoro gets out through stuttering laughter.

Sanji burns bright like a star in his rage. Luffy watches with amusement as his hands start itch with the need to  _ touch _ . “I’ve slept with plenty of people! Unlike  _ you,  _ you brainless slob.” 

Zoro laughs in one big shout that comes out more like a bark than anything. “Hah! Please, cook. I’ve bedded way more people than you could ever.” 

“But have you  _ pleased  _ them?” Sanji hisses. “I bet you’d get  _ lost—”  _

“I’ve pleased more than  _ you have,”  _ Zoro fires back. 

Sanji barks out a harsh laugh. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” 

Which is when Luffy gets an idea. He starts to laugh and both men swivel their heads to stare at him. When he has their attention, Luffy smiles.

After a moment, “Why is he doing that with his face?” Zoro asks the room at large. Luffy is smiling at him in a truly disconcerting way. It’s awful. 

“I don’t know,” Sanji replies, sounding equally as frightened. 

* * *

In order to solve all of their problems, Luffy proposes a simple solution. He and Zoro will have sex. Sanji will watch and judge Zoro’s ability to please. The argument will be settled and Luffy’s insatiable, burning hunger for Zoro and his  _ hair  _ will be satiated. And, most importantly, as Sanji is nakama and it is Luffy's sworn duty as Captain to preserve his nakama's happiness, Sanji will see that they can both have Zoro in this way. They can share, like multiple people crowding around a campfire at night. 

However, a problem arises in the fact that, for a proposition to be successful, one must actually communicate ones’ plans in _words._

Luffy skips this step entirely in favor of wrapping his arms around Zoro’s torso and sucking on his neck. 

* * *

“Oh my god,” Sanji murmurs, burying his face in his hands. 

Luffy laughs from his boneless position sprawled out across Zoro’s naked chest. Zoro, for his part, blinks at the ceiling in a slow and confused manner. 

“Oh my  _ god,”  _ Sanji repeats, half crying and half moaning. 

“Told you,” Zoro says, his voice still sounding fucked ten ways till Sunday. _(He did take Luffy’s dick an awful long way down his throat—)_

Cutting that thought off where it begins, Sanji whispers, “ _ I hate you,”  _ with a fervent conviction. He scrubs at his eyes  _ hard  _ as if he can banish everything that he has seen this night if only he scratches hard enough. 

“No you don’t,” Zoro says. He shifts Luffy to one shoulder and Luffy goes easily, curling into his side and resting his head on Zoro’s chest, but peering up at Sanji with delighted eyes from underneath his dark bangs. Zoro holds out his other arm. “C’mere,” he grunts. On his shoulder, Luffy smiles, dopey and fond. 

“Why?” Sanji replies. 

Zoro levels him with a flat stare. “Because you don’t hate me,” he says, as if it’s as easy as that. 

Zoro’s scarred, tan skin is still flushed a dusty red. His hair is loose and curled gently with sweat, spread out like a stupid (beautiful) green halo on the floor.  _ It can’t be comfortable,  _ Sanji thinks,  _ down there on the floor like that.  _ He stares at the way Zoro’s hair fans out from his body, effortlessly graceful, even matted and tangled from the way that Luffy had tugged and scratched and grabbed at it.  _ That couldn’t have been comfortable either,  _ Sanji thinks,  _ to have it pulled that hard.  _ (But, then again, Zoro seemed to enjoy it if the sounds he made were any indication.) 

With a sigh, Sanji stands and moves over to take the offered arm. The floor is surprisingly warm from their body heat. Luffy is giving him a tired, yet smug look across the bare expanse of Zoro’s chest. 

"We can both want Zoro," Luffy mumbles, sleepy and sated. (Sanji thinks his Captain's lips look particularly soft when they're kiss-bruised and dark.) "We can both have him," Luffy says, like it's simple. Like it's _easy._ Zoro hums and tightens his grip on them both. 

(And really, it is as easy as that. They fall asleep on the floor, under a moss-green canopy and a single watchful eye.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on ye olden [tumblr](https://trixree.tumblr.com/)


End file.
